


let me go

by Raffeale



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-19 18:19:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19138126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raffeale/pseuds/Raffeale
Summary: Steve knows he isn't needed anymore. So, after the distance between him and the group grows, he is finished.





	let me go

**Author's Note:**

> Um. Well. Steve is really sad? Not the right word. I'm pouring myself and all the things I can't talk about into this fic. Serious trigger warning. 
> 
> It's short, but that's because it's the first chapter. If I do end up posting again, the next one will probably be longer (hopefully).  
> I do not own marvel, or steve, or bucky, or anything here. It's just fanwork and depression.

The first time Steve really tried was about a year after Bucky came back.

Bucky was okay by that time, part of the Avengers team, and he was friends with everyone. He’d moved out of Steve’s apartment and into Stark Tower, where all of the Avengers lived-- except Steve, that is.

Steve looked around his apartment from where he stood, in the middle of the main room. He took in his blank walls with a blank stare, and idly thought, it’s as if no one lives here. It’d been a long time-- too long?-- since Steve had food in the kitchen, since he’d had a photo up, since he’d done anything to make the living space his. The apartment, with its designer furniture, matching color scheme, and new feel, was always kept horrifyingly cold. He used to turn up the heat when others came to visit, or Bucky lived there. Bucky prefered the house cold, but not below sixty-four. 

It was winter. Steve kept all the windows open and didn’t touch the heat. 

As Steve crumpled to the floor, head pounding, he realized that he really wasn’t needed anymore. The world had the Avengers to protect it, Bucky was safe again. 

He’d thought before, about killing himself. He knew it’d be suspicious if Captain America went out and bought a gun, and he couldn’t take one from the base. He’d be noticed, and he hadn’t been to the Tower in awhile-- two weeks, maybe? He couldn’t really keep track of time. 

His mind was carefully blank as he took out the knife that was sheathed in it's holster at his side. He looked at it for a second, then idly wondered how far he’d have to push to bleed out. 

He took the knife in his left hand-- his non-dominant-- and pushed deep into his forearm. He dragged a deep line up his wrist to his elbow, the knife plunged halfway through his arm. The pain was a dull ache in the back of his mind, and he stared unceremoniously at the shaking in his hands as blood started pouring out of the wound. He took the knife in his other hand and did the same to his other wrist, and watched the maroon liquid gush out of his body and onto the wood floor.

He didn’t feel anything when he woke up, light streaming through the windows some two days later, arms healed and lying in a pool of his own blood.

∆

“Hey, have any of you heard from Steve?” Bucky said, strolling out of the elevator and on to the floor where the team all congregated for breakfast.

“No, actually. He hasn’t responded to any messages for about two days,” Natasha responded, frowning.

“Maybe he broke his phone?” Bruce offered.

“Naw, he woulda called on his home phone and told us,” Tony interjected.

“I’ll go over there today. He hasn’t been over here in a while, has he? Maybe we should invite him over for dinner,” Buck said idly. A chorus of “sure”s and “good idea”s echoed. 

Natasha frowned again and told Bucky that she’d go with him to visit Steve.

∆

Something was off. Natasha felt it, nagging at the back of her mind as she threw on her winter coat. She became increasingly anxious during the drive to Steve’s, fingers drumming an angry beat on her door.

“Something’s wrong,” she told Bucky, who frowned. 

“I know.”

∆

Steve hadn’t gotten up for the better part of the third day. He couldn’t force energy into his limbs, or get his mind to work. He was numb to everything, the sticky feeling underneath him, the aching of his limbs from being in such a position for so long, the pain of a starving stomach.

All those emotions that had flooded his head maybe a year ago had been subdued, and Steve was caught, frozen in the ice of his own mind.

The only thing he could feel was the cold.

He was so, so very cold. 

So, when he heard the series of knocks on his door, he couldn’t drag himself up to answer it. He couldn’t even open his mouth to respond.

“Steve? We’re coming in.”

No. Please don’t.

He heard the creak of the door opening.

“Steve!”

∆

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me if anyone is reading this, if anyone cares. I'm probably going to keep writing it. Mostly because I'm really selfish and need an outlet to talk about, like I said earlier, things I can't talk about. I know no one cares, and no one is going. to see or read this, but yeah. It's here. I don't even know why I'm posting. I guess I have a little hope.


End file.
